


Satellite

by jevald



Category: Sally Face (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff and Smut, Gentleness, M/M, Marijuana, Mentions of Alcohol Abuse, Misunderstandings, Non-Traditional Succubi & Incubi, Recreational Drug Use, Romance, Sharing Clothes, Sharing a Bed, Strangers to Lovers, Succubi & Incubi, Supernatural Elements, Touch-Starved, professional cuddler, unhealthy eating habits, yeehaw
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-08 13:52:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17387552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jevald/pseuds/jevald
Summary: Sal had known he was screwed when he first received Larry’s selfie showing off his pretty cheekbones and warm eyes, but this is too much.





	1. Luna

**Author's Note:**

> Just a heads up, this chapter mentions Sal not "eating" for a while. So supernatural unhealthy eating habits, basically.

Sal stands on the front step of the apartment building studying the graffiti and stickers on the door phone. Someone slapped a band sticker on the top, now barely legible it’s so worn. He’s seen a couple of the tags around town before, but he doesn’t recognize any of the other markers.

He winds his scarf around his throat tighter with trembling hands. Realizing he’s shaking, if only slightly, he flushes and clenches his jaw. It’s not particularly cold today but he’s feeling it more than usual. Shoving one hand in his pocket, he steps closer to the door phone. The button is icy beneath his fingertip, and he almost jerks his hand away before he’s properly pressed it. He doesn’t let himself.

A woman leaves the building, eyeing him suspiciously all the while. A ruddy light lingers around her face, bright enough Sal’s eye burns. She makes certain to close the door firmly behind her.

Sal ducks his head, jaw tightening further. He can’t go anywhere without responses like this. It was different when he was a kid—people assumed the mask was just a stupid joke for the most part—but not anymore.

“Hello?” The voice that comes through the speaker is deep and rasping.

Sal suspects the static is contributing to the latter quality, but it’s still enough to have him shaking harder. He’s unsure what he was expecting but hearing him makes what everything more real.

For the past month, an ache or a cramp or something has been plaguing him. It’s settled right behind his ribs, where his stomach is. It grows worse every time he leaves his apartment, so he’s been even more shut-in than usual, much to his friends’ chagrin. When it began, he didn’t join in their usual meetups and avoided going to the grocery store or any restaurants, but at this point, it’s so bad he hasn’t been out in a week and a half. Living on ramen isn’t anything new, anyway. He’d really be fine if it weren’t for the cramping. He’s almost gotten used to it by now, even, but it still makes him dizzy when he thinks about it too hard.

He steps closer to the push plate, swallowing down the anxiety rising within him. “Uh, hey. It’s—I’m Sal. I’m here for the appointment.”

“Oh! Hey, dude. I’ll buzz you in now. Sorry, but you’ll have to take the stairs—the elevator is out again.”

Sal laughs nervously. The door hums, lock clicking, and Sal stumbles to slip inside.

The building is only slightly nicer than his own; that edge, no matter how small, is enough to add to his uneasiness. It’s just another reminder he shouldn’t be here. The tile in the foyer is yellowed from age, and the lights are all honey gold. The mailboxes display signs of abuse: scratches, graffiti, and more stickers. The elevator at the center of the room has caution tape crossed over it. He bypasses it in favor of opening the door marked “Stairwell.”

The staircase is cramped and smells faintly of chalk of all things. Somehow, it’s colder in here than outside, with the concrete stairs and metal rails covered in chipping, yellow paint.

Sal goes slow, not wanting to trip over himself but mostly out of anxiety. His goal is on the fifth floor, so he has plenty of time to get it together. At least, that’s what he tells himself.

This isn’t something he’s done before. A year or so back, he tried a similar arrangement which immediately blew up in his face, no pun intended. He’d been stupid enough to think showing up to the woman’s apartment without his mask would alarm the woman he hired less than if he came with. After that, Sal has avoided feeding almost entirely.

Just thinking about it has his stomach churning and knotting. He ends up faltering on the third-floor landing, something unyielding trapped in his throat. The railing is like ice beneath his fingertips and flakes of paint flutter to the floor when he curls his nails against it.

The man he’s hired, Larry, doesn’t have any experience with incubi or succubi—he admitted as much as soon as Sal told him what he was looking for and why. Still, Larry hadn’t assumed Sal was looking for sex—assured him, even, that he knows incubi can feed on things other than sexual pleasure when Sal tried to explain.

It made Sal feel something he can’t really name, like safe but not that, not exactly. Maybe it was a certain brand of relief. He’s never been good at this sort of thing. Emotions, even his own, are almost distant to him when it comes to putting them into words.

If Larry had responded any other way, Sal wouldn’t be here right now. At least of that, he’s sure. Hell, more than that, if Sal had any hope of getting a proper meal otherwise—if his last feeding hadn’t been over six months ago—he wouldn’t be doing this.

He drags a hand through his hair letting his nails catch at his scalp. With a sigh, he takes the next step, and the next. The ache in his belly urges him to the top of the stairs, down the hall and ultimately brings his knuckles to tap at Larry’s door.

They exchanged selfies after they had discussed the arrangement, yet Sal still isn’t prepared for Larry Johnson. He’s a damn giant—it’s not hard to be taller than Sal, but Sal doesn’t think he’s met anyone taller than Larry in his entire life. He’s all wiry muscle, too, judging by the arm he rests against the doorframe and the build of his shoulders.

He has tattoos in a wild sprawl across the back of his hands, up his forearms and slipping beneath his tee. Some are of symbols Sal recognizes: alchemic and occult, holy and profane. Beneath the stretched collar of his shirt, Sal can see the barest hints of more tattoos across his collarbones.

Ordinarily, Sal has a hard time seeing life energy. With the increase of his hunger, it has become easier. He’s heard many of his kind claim it’s beautiful, but usually it just gives him a headache. Larry’s energy, however, is silvery-soft just beneath his skin—a ghostly sort of mist, barely there, but still more clear to Sal’s senses than any other person’s life-force has ever been. Despite the clarity, it’s soothing rather than glaring brightly—like peering at the moon versus the sun.

 _The Moon_. It’s cheesy, and yet it’s the best way Sal can describe what he’s seeing.

Sal had known he was screwed when he initially received Larry’s selfie showing off his pretty cheekbones and warm eyes, but this is too much.

“Hey, Sal! Thanks for coming.” Larry steps back from the doorway, motioning for Sal to come in. “Make yourself at home, dude.”

Sal is in such a state that he drifts inside instead of turning tail like he should. His head feels foggy, and his throat is so dry it hurts. The whole apartment smells of Larry (and weed, but mostly Larry). The room is cramped with a large, worn couch taking up most of the space. It’s a toxic green color with some sort of floral pattern going on. Larry has piled a couple of fluffy blankets on one arm and a couple of pillows are tucked next to them. The sight of it sends Sal’s stomach tumbling over itself.

A blue and grey tapestry hangs behind it, lined with Christmas lights shut off, clashing terribly. The coffee table is covered in papers and spilled ash as the ashtray there is filled to the brim. Next to it, there’s a pretty bowl shaped like a little animal of some sort.

Catching him staring, Larry laughs and cards his fingers through his hair. “Yeah, sorry I didn’t clean up. Time sort of got away from me. If you want, you can share a bowl with me, though. Or I could clean up real fast.”

“No,” Sal says quickly. “No, it’s okay.”

“If you’re sure, dude. It would really be no trouble.”

Larry rolls his shoulders back and his shirt stretches with the movement, showing off the definition of his chest. Sal thinks he might just die.

Considering Sal is a halfling, he doesn’t need to feed as often as a full incubus does. Still, he’s let himself go far, far too long and suddenly it’s hitting him all at once. His limbs are heavy and his jaw aches with it. He fully intends to head to the beat-up couch just a few feet away, but instead he lingers in front of Larry, gazing up at him and the moonlight within.

Frowning, Larry tilts his head. His hair is gorgeous, spilling over his shoulder and brushing his cheek with the motion. Maybe Larry will let him touch it.

“Everything okay? If you’re uncomfortable—”

“No,” Sal croaks and shakes his head. He takes a step back for good measure, but he can’t bring himself to go far, not when everything in him is screaming to touch Larry. “No, I’m sorry. I just—I haven’t eaten in a really long time. I’m sorry. I don’t want to creep you out.”

He doesn’t mean to say half of that, and yet it comes spilling out anyway. He sounds like a nut and he knows it, babbling the way he is. He drags a hand through his hair again and closes his eyes. He should leave. This was a mistake.

The door clicks as it closes. Sal’s breath shudders out of him but he keeps his eyes shut.

“Hey… Sal, it’s okay. You’re not creeping me out,” Larry murmurs, shifting closer. He smells good—like the forest and sweat and sleep. “Like I told you, we can do as much or as little as you’re comfortable with. But uh, you’re shaking, and I think you need to sit down for a minute, okay?”

Sal blinks down at his hands. It’s true, he’s trembling again.

“I’ll make you some tea or something, alright?” Larry continues. His voice is a little raspy but it’s warm, like he cares. He must be good at his job. “Is it okay if I touch your shoulder?”

Sal drags his tongue over his cracked lips. He nods, slow and jerky.

Larry’s hand is big and warm, his touch gentle. He squeezes Sal’s shoulder so softly Sal wonders if he imagined it. Larry takes a step towards the couch, drawing Sal along, but hesitates.

Sal can’t bring himself to meet Larry’s eyes or even look at his face, so his gaze settles around Larry’s throat. He watches as Larry’s Adam’s apple bobs and bites the inside of his cheek hard.

“Am I—I mean, are you shaking because you’re nervous or cold or-or hungry?” He squeezes Sal’s shoulder again, a little tighter this time but nowhere near enough to hurt.

Sal laughs, the sound tight and full of nerves. “I’m not even sure anymore.”

Larry’s chuckle is breathless and warm. It makes Sal’s chest tighten.

When Sal meets Larry’s eyes, he finds them hooded and warm. Larry’s lips quirk, his smile kind rather than mocking. Some of the tension that’s been building in Sal’s shoulders slips away.

This time, Sal’s laughter feels better—more natural. “Sorry I’m so awkward.”

Larry’s grin goes broad and crooked. “No need to apologize, man. It’s an awkward situation. Is there anything I can do to help? To make you more comfortable, I mean?”

Before he can psych himself out, he asks, “Can I hug you or is that too much?”

Immediately, he’s drawn to Larry’s chest, warm hands rubbing circles over his back. Sal can’t help but shudder when hit with all of Larry’s warmth, his scent, and the closeness of that gentle light. It flutters like another heartbeat in response to Sal’s hands settling on Larry’s back. Larry isn’t forcing himself to do this—he enjoys the contact.

Sal melts into him, breathing in the burst of energy Larry releases in response to his touch. It’s like a shock to his system and he’s back to shivering beneath Larry’s touch. It doesn’t have a taste, not really, but rather comes with a feeling that Sal can only conceptualize as softness.

In ways, it’s incongruent with Larry’s sharp edges and cool demeanor. But anyone so willing to hug a stranger, even if it’s for money, must be pretty gentle.

“Hey,” Larry murmurs, breath stirring his hair, “you okay?”

Sal nods, tucking his face against Larry’s shoulder. “I, uh, I just had a little of your energy.” He squeezes his eyes shut, feeling like an idiot for narrating it like that.

“Yeah?” Larry sounds curious. His hand smooths down Sal’s back. “Is it true it has a color? Like, you can see it?”

Humming, Sal nods again. “Yours is…” Soft, he thinks but holds that back. “Yours is really light. Sort of white and grey.”

“Oh, well, that’s not very exciting,” Larry says with a chuckle.

“No, no—it’s like…” Sal’s cheeks heat. “It’s like moonlight.”

Sal can hear Larry’s throat click as he swallows.

Larry holds him a little tighter, his mouth drifting over his hair. “That’s really cool, dude,” he says gruffly, sounding truly pleased.

Sal takes a deep breath, stomach lurching as Larry releases another bright pulse of energy. The faint light meets him like waves against the shore. It feels better than anything Sal has experienced before. He’s never had energy that made him feel so quiet and good inside.

Despite the content, sleepy feeling growing inside him, the pain that has been lingering in his center only grows worse rather than better—story of his life, really. With the ache comes a moment of painful awareness of how goddamn weird this all is. Even though he came into the situation intent on getting up close and personal with a total stranger, it’s still bizarre to be in the midst of it. At least he knows this isn’t any more awkward for Larry than usual, being a “professional cuddler” and all. Still, he feels too big in his own skin and dizzy all over again.

Is it really okay to hug Larry like this? And when the hell is he supposed to stop? Right now, he’s tempted to just stay like this, if only to save himself the embarrassment of lifting his head.

He came here to feed, though, and that won’t happen if he’s a coward.

“What can I do?” Sal asks, hating how croaky his voice comes out. “To make you—you know.”

“Oh, uh…” Larry swallows again then laughs a little breathlessly. “How do you feel about braiding hair?”

Withdrawing slightly, Sal tilts his face to meet Larry’s eyes. “Dude, do you see my hair?”

Larry’s proper laugh is rumbling and warm. He withdraws slowly but never once removes his hands entirely, letting his fingers drift down the backs of Sal’s arms.

“Alright, before you take on your hair duties, let’s get you out of your jacket. Sound good?”

“Sounds good.”

Sal tugs off his scarf and jacket, dropping them on the beat-up chair nearby.

“Do you want some tea? Or anything else to drink?” Larry asks, kicking a pair of shoes under the coffee table.

“Nah, I’m okay. Thanks, though.”

He watches Larry move, all gangly limbs and fluttering hands. He’s almost birdlike, and yet, despite how lanky he is, there’s something solid to him. His presence is grounding.

Larry fiddles with the television for a moment, turning it on but hastily setting the volume low. “Most people like to have a movie or something on. Some like music. Some just want to sleep. We can do whatever you want.”

Sal can’t help but laugh. Larry’s job is making other people feel good and content. He’s not just going through the motions, either—this is natural for him. He’s legitimately kind. But for Sal to get what he needs out of this, he has to be the one taking care of Larry’s wants for a while.

“Like I told you,” Sal says, thinking of their lengthy emails, “it’s gotta be what makes you feel good.”

Blinking a little owlishly, Larry looks from Sal to the television as if he’s seeing it in a new light. Sal can’t help but wonder when he last lit up. Larry ends up putting on music, something a lot quieter and softer than what Sal would have expected Larry to like. When he thinks about it, he realizes it shouldn’t come as a surprise; of course, Larry is going to have plenty of calming music suitable for cuddling and dozing.

Grinning shyly, Larry takes a seat on the couch, slouching down. He seems to read Sal’s mind without even catching a glimpse of his expression, explaining, “I don’t usually listen to this sort of thing, but I like it when I’m trying to relax, y’know?”

Sal nods, shifting closer to the couch but hesitating.

“C’mon,” Larry murmurs and motions him over. “Treat this place like it’s yours, seriously. You don’t have to mess with my hair if that’s—"

“Could we…" Sal swallows thickly.

This is about getting himself fed. He needs energy. His aching stomach is a good reminder of that. Still, he finds himself wanting to curl up against Larry’s side instead of worrying about it.

When he first heard about professional cuddling, Sal had asked himself just who would want to cuddle a stranger let alone need to. Now, it’s all too apparent he’s one of those people who could use some physical contact. He’s never really had a chance to cuddle anyone, not since he was a kid. He’s had a couple of partners, but none of them were particularly affectionate. Hell, before considering the option of hiring someone like Larry, Sal would have insisted he’s not a cuddler. Despite that, almost as soon as he came across Larry’s ad online he couldn’t stop imagining being held for a while.

Larry’s expression goes soft. “We can do whatever you want. Whatever you need,” he adds. “We can do as much or as little, as fast or as slow—whatever makes you comfortable.”

“And you?” Sal asks, voice small. “Like… what about you? What makes you comfortable?”

Dragging his teeth over his lip, Larry considers him for a moment. “Well, I won’t do anything that makes me uncomfortable. I’ll let you know, okay? But… I really like having my hair played with and, well…” His lips quirk. He leans over, patting the spot on the couch next to him. “Come sit down, man. At least get comfortable while we talk about it.”

Rubbing the back of his neck which feels far too hot, Sal does just that. He keeps a healthy distance between them, but his skin is still tingling at the proximity. He’s used to humans being wary around him—hell, everyone is wary around him, considering the mask. It’s just that many nasty perceptions about incubi and the like persist, so people like keeping a wide berth.

Larry is different, that much is obvious, but habits are habits.

“I don’t want you doing anything that makes you uncomfortable, either,” Larry intones.

It hits Sal strangely and his mouth dries. He’s unsure how he managed to find someone as thoughtful as Larry, but it’s surreal. Part of it must be that Larry has to be nice for his work, but people can’t just fake kindness like this.

Larry seems to sense his response, his expression softening again. “I’d like it if you’d play with my hair,” he says quietly. “Even if it’s just while we’re cuddling. If cuddling is something you’d be okay with. I actually really like it, and honestly, I’m feeling pretty worn out today. I bartend, too, so I had a late night.”

Sal inclines his head, uncertain how his voice might come out.

“I don’t know how this works for you—like if you can feed while I’m asleep, but if I doze off feel free to elbow me awake.”

Larry scratches his cheek. “Would you be up for, uh, laying down at least? Or maybe I could put my head in your lap?”

Sal immediately imagines curling up against Larry’s side beneath one of his fluffy blankets and his heart lurches in his chest. “‘Laying down?’ Uh, like… spooning?”

Eyes crinkling, Larry shrugs. “Sure, we can spoon. Have you cuddled much?”

Sal shakes his head, looking away. “I, uh, I’ve never had any chance to.”

Shifting closer, Larry touches his shoulder again, thumb tracing over the tight muscles along the side of his neck. Sal can’t hold back his shaky sigh or stop himself from slumping closer to Larry. Larry, bless him, takes it in stride. An arm is quickly draped around Sal’s shoulders, easing him closer to Larry’s chest. Larry’s hand drifts to the other side of Sal’s neck, massaging lightly.

When Sal lets his forehead press against Larry’s shoulder, his energy thrums in response. Sal nearly jumps at the rush of it. He breathes it in, lips parted. It leaves him pleasantly warm. Finally, the pain in his middle begins to ease, if only slightly.

“I’ve been doing some research, not going to lie,” Larry says, laughter lacing his voice. “According to the internet, incubuses—incubi?—need lots of physical contact. That true?”

“Dunno,” Sal slurs, nuzzling closer to Larry.

The light spikes again and Larry practically giggles. Sal doesn’t fight it when Larry tips them over, pulling Sal to lay on top of him. His giggling turns into another bright laugh and his energy is like a halo around him, filling Sal’s lungs.

As if in a trance, Sal pushes himself up, so he hovers over Larry. Larry, with his silver glow and the feathery sprawl of his hair against the dark color of his pillow, looks like something angelic. Sal’s mouth has never felt dryer. A demon and an angel. He almost laughs, but he bites back the sound, knowing very well it would come out sounding like a sob.

Larry grins up at him, shifting to pull his legs up on the couch and knocking his knees against Sal’s own to get him to shift. Somehow, Sal ends up on the inside, against the back of the couch with Larry at his front. Sal doesn’t know what to do with his arms or his legs or anything, really, but Larry is still gleaming like silver, so he just lets it happen.

Sneaking an arm under Sal’s neck, Larry happily guides him even closer until he’s comfortably tucked away from the world. Larry feels impossibly big and broad like this--so much so Sal questions if his string-bean appearance is some sort of illusion. Sal can’t help but press closer to Larry. He enjoys feeling small in his hold as it’s joined by a sense of safety that only strengthens when Larry’s other arm curls around his waist.

Each time Sal wriggles closer, nuzzles his face against Larry’s collar bone through his shirt, or presses his thighs against Larry’s own, Larry gleams a little brighter. It doesn’t once become overwhelming, instead lulling Sal further. Feeding off Larry really is unlike anything Sal has experienced.

For a moment, he considers calling the experience intoxicating, but that’s not it. There’s no buzz or risk to this, just softness. Yet that’s not right, either: Now that he’s felt this, even if he’s merely had it for a few moments, he’s running the risk of never being able to give it up.


	2. Ganymede

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His fingers curl loosely, clutching sleepily at Sal’s shirt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... it gets sappier before anyone gets horni.
> 
> Thank you all for the bookmarks, comments, and kudos! They really mean a lot. I love hearing from you all.

Sal can’t remember the last time he was this close to a person for so long. Larry is broad and warm at his front, and the couch at Sal’s back keeps their heat trapped. The tight quarters ensure that Sal feels Larry’s every move, even his breath in his hair, and hears his heartbeat. He forgot what it’s like to be held: the warmth, being able to smell them, the intimacy that comes with feeling another person breathe and breathing with them. It feels like they’re connected somehow.

It’s almost overwhelming—almost _scary_ to be in a person’s space, especially a practical stranger. But Larry is kind and gentle and Sal is _awestruck_ by him, really.

It feels so good Sal can’t help wriggling, fighting to get closer though he knows it’s impossible. He even imagines, if only for the briefest moment, what it would like to feel Larry’s skin against his own. Larry’s throat, now pressed against his mask, would feel so soft against Sal’s cheek.

If things were different, he would love to experience more.

Larry is kind enough not to say anything about his embarrassing behavior, simply stroking his back. He squeezes Sal’s waist each time his squirming dies down as if to reassure him. There’s no judgement—somehow, it’s clear in each touch though Sal can’t explain it.

“This still okay?” Larry asks. His thumb traces the notches in Sal’s spine as if learning them (Sal swallows thickly at the thought). “If you’re uncomfortable—”

“I’m not. I’m really… I’m really comfortable.”

It’s true. Hell, it’s an understatement. Sal feels like he might just float away if Larry were to release him now.

He’s never felt like this before. He doubts he’ll ever get to feel like this again.

Sal clears his throat. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m good. Is there anything you’d like, though? As far as cuddling goes? Or anything else for that matter.”

Sal laughs breathlessly. “No, I…”

“How’d you imagine it?”

His tone is soft in a way Sal has never heard from another person. It pierces Sal, hitting deep behind his ribs. He’s not used to kindness from strangers, especially not kindness like this. He tries to keep himself quiet, but he still sighs out a pathetic noise that’s enough to make him wince. Luckily, Larry is Larry so he just pets Sal with more enthusiasm.

“C’mon,” Larry persists, though he maintains that softness, ensuring it’s not pressuring. “It’s okay, whatever it is.”

Sal swallows only to find it difficult. “Could we switch? Like, could you use my chest as a pillow, or… whatever?”

He immediately winces again. He sounds like an idiot.

“Sure, dude. Sounds good.”

They shift, Larry withdrawing his arms and squirming down the couch. Sal scoots as far up as he can, biting at his lips when he realizes he’s basically just asked Larry—tall, tall Larry—to cramp up his legs for him. Sal’s a dumbass.

“Usually, I’m the pillow,” Larry jokes, his smile going lopsided. “This is a nice change of pace.”

The light shimmers enough that Sal knows it’s true, Larry doesn’t mind a bit. The anxiety that was biting at his heels again eases up.

Sal tries to mimic what Larry did for him: arm under his neck, the other at his waist. Larry easily fits himself against Sal’s side, face tucked against Sal’s shoulder, and one arm draped over his side. Sal feels a little lightheaded having Larry’s face right against his throat—such a delicate, intimate place. Larry’s skin does prove to be soft and his nose presses against Sal’s neck in a way that’s undeniably adorable.

Releasing a snuffly, sleepy noise, Larry squeezes Sal’s waist. It makes him feel good. It’s like Larry is letting him know he’s _here_. Eager to please—to give Larry a little bit of that pleasure, too—Sal returns the gesture. Larry’s laughter is barely there but enough to give Sal goosebumps.

Hesitant, Sal tilts his face to press against Larry’s hair. He can’t feel it, not through the mask obviously, but he can smell Larry’s shampoo and that’s more than enough.

Larry is all alight, too, with his moonlight glow gleaming dully within him. When Sal gives his waist a squeeze, the light pulses. When Sal strokes down his spine, Larry sighs and shines. When Sal presses his palm flat to the small of Larry’s back, Larry nuzzles against his throat and his energy flutters within his chest.

The light—The _light_ is unlike anything Sal has ever seen. Even his mother’s was a brilliant, almost shiny pink that was hard to look at for too long. Larry’s moth-like and welcoming where others are like warning signs. He really can’t get over it. What are the chances of finding energy so unique and in such a ridiculous way?

Sal had been terrified to follow through with this, but he’s so fucking glad he did.

Sal closes his eyes and takes it in with deep, slow breaths. “Thank you,” he whispers. “Seriously, thank you.”

Humming in response, Larry pets at Sal’s lower back. His body feels heavy and loose against Sal’s own. Realizing he’s falling asleep is enough to have Sal preening. Sure, Larry said he’s tired, but it still means he’s comfortable enough to actually rest.

Maybe he’s projecting, considering his insomnia and nightmares, but Sal knows sleeping with someone requires trust. Probably even more than usual when that stranger is masked and free to poke around the apartment. To someone else, it might not seem like that big a deal, but considering everything it means a lot to Sal. Larry is trusting him to respect his space and his _body_ while he’s not looking.

Most people don’t even trust incubi to breathe the same air without manipulating them. They think incubi have all sorts of toxic, terrible powers and the evil intentions to go with them. Yet Larry hasn’t shown any signs of discomfort and he certainly never made any comment on it in their emails.

Sal’s not even sure what he did to deserve this faith. Larry doesn’t seem like the naïve type. Though many might mistake his kindness for a form of weakness, Sal knows better. They’ve messaged each other pretty extensively, and Larry was careful, asking for Sal’s information such as a pic of some official identification, but there was nothing particularly remarkable about those exchanges.

Staying quiet, Sal lets his cheek rest against Larry’s head. Even something so simple feels good.

When he’s desperate to feed, Sal usually goes to Ash. She’ll ask him to braid her hair or simply play with it or even to rub her shoulders. Sometimes, she’ll give him permission to feed on her contentment when she eats things like chocolate or hugs her girlfriend. Sal will breathe in the sharp turquoise of her being and everything will be okay, even if only for a few minutes. It’s never much. Nothing he gets is ever much.

When his mother was alive, they fed each other. She would hold him close, stroke his hair, or hold his hands. There was a constant stream of energy to feed on. And if his mother wasn’t available for some reason, he could get energy from his father who would ruffle his hair, pat his back, or thrum with pleasure after eating his mother’s famous French fries.

Back then, he didn’t realize how good he had it. Now, he longs for that time more than anything else.

After his mother’s death, his father was reluctant to look at him let alone touch him. His mother was the succubus, too—the one who really understood. Without her around, it often seemed as if his father was lost, unsure of how to handle his son in every sense. After a point, he was too busy with his drinking to worry over much of anything.

Sal fed on whoever he could after that, but always refrained from taking without permission. In addition, he could never bring himself to feed on the barely-there pleasure his father would experience from his first sip of alcohol each night. His mother told him there are things that just shouldn’t be done and feeding without permission was around the top of the list. He refuses to go against those guidelines she put forth, even when he’s starving.

Larry mumbles something soft and indiscriminate. His lips brush Sal’s skin, making him close his eyes and suck in a breath. There’s something amazing about the softness of Larry’s body. He’s just so relaxed. His fingers curl loosely, clutching sleepily at Sal’s shirt. Unsurprisingly, it makes Sal feel giddy. It’s sugary sweet, so much so Sal feels it in his aching teeth.

This really isn’t what Sal expected of this encounter—it’s so fucking _tender_ it’s more like a fantasy than reality. It makes him prickle all over with embarrassment, but a smile, small and foolish, is hidden beneath his mask.

Larry’s breaths are slow and even with sleep. It lulls Sal, clearing the lingering unpleasant thoughts from his mind. He recognizes that he’s dozing off in the way his own breathing softens and deepens, the melty feeling in his legs and his middle, and how hard it is to keep his eyes open. He probably shouldn’t, but he lets himself slip deeper anyway. It’s too great a temptation to deny.

He feels silly about it, but he’s wanted to sleep by someone’s side for a long time. He didn’t consider cuddling much in the past but sleeping next to someone is an intimacy he’s been longing for. He’s not sure what it is about it beyond him feeling it’s such a sign of trust or maybe it’s something ridiculous like he’s connected sleeping together to comfort after sneaking into his parents’ bed as a child. Now that he’s presented with the chance to experience it in such a new way, he’s going to enjoy it.

Sal is used to struggling to sleep—his anxiety, depression, and nightmares all work together to make sleep remarkably difficult for him. Hell, he’s even anxious that he might drift off into a nightmare right here, waking to find he’s creeped Larry out by sweating and mumbling about his dead mother in his sleep. But he doesn’t expect to do much more than doze, especially considering how hungry he still is.

Despite everything, he’s soon drifting off. Sleep comes and goes. He’s never deeply under and when he blinks awake again, he tugs his phone from his back pocket to find he’s still got time (51 minutes, 39 minutes…). He promptly dozes off again.

When Sal finally breaks out of his bleary, dreamy state, it’s like he’s been transported to another world entirely. Everything feels distant and appears soft around the edges. That yawning hunger that had been brewing in his stomach has finally quieted. He feels as if he’s been reborn.

God, Sal feels like an idiot, but he can’t even be bothered—not when he feels so fucking good.

Larry is still revealing his pleasure through the beat-beat-beating of his inner-light. It could be brighter—Sal could _make_ it brighter. This is his role as an incubus, after all, and even if he’s paying Larry it’s not much. In Sal’s humble opinion, 70 bucks (which he originally thought of as a lot, being pretty fucking poor and all) isn’t enough considering Larry’s provided Sal with a feast and more.

He draws his arm from Larry’s waist to reach for his hair. This was Larry’s one request and he intends to fill it, but he hesitates.

Larry is still so soft and sweet with sleep. Sal feels honored to be given this moment. It’s silly, he keeps telling himself that. Still, he can’t shake the warmth that blossoms in his chest. Because this is Larry showing him trust, at least in some sense, and Sal would hate to do something to make him regret it.

Sighing quietly, Larry noses against Sal’s throat. His hand shifts from where it’s been wrapped up in Sal’s shirt over his belly to curl under his chin.

Sal’s not sure how to handle such an intimate thing as stroking a person’s hair in general let alone with a stranger. Even being practically wrapped around Larry, showing affection like this seems presumptuous or something. Larry asked for it specifically, though. The soft, almost sugary sensation of breathing in Larry’s energy proves more powerful than his anxiety.

He keeps his face tucked against Larry’s head. Sal touches the pads of his fingertips to the hair above Larry’s ear. Larry nuzzles into the crook of his neck in response. Emboldened, Sal feels giddy and warm as he cards his fingers through Larry’s hair, following the curve of his skull. It’s soft, especially behind his ears.

Larry shivers and hums. The light within him goes electric and sparkling. Sal breathes it in, in, in. The hole that had slowly eaten its way through his middle feels as if it’s finally mending itself, frayed edges softened by Larry’s pleasure.

This is his favorite sort of pleasure, too: the pleasure from simple things. It’s different. It leaves him feeling satiated in a way feeding from sex, the couple of times he tried, never did.

Smile sweet against Sal’s skin, Larry mumbles, “That feels really nice. Thanks, man.”

Sal’s cheeks absolutely burn. He eagerly continues, carding his fingers through the hair at the base of Larry’s skull. He’s careful with any small tangles he encounters, gently working them out with subtle movements. Larry sighs and noses at Sal’s collarbone in response, his body going lax against Sal’s own.

He had seemed so relaxed even before, it’s strange to realize how much tension he was still holding.

“Why cuddling?” Sal asks faintly, hoping it doesn’t come out the wrong way. He can’t help being curious, especially as a participant.

Maybe Larry was starved of any sort of contact before, like Sal is still. It would explain why he responds so nicely to Sal’s touch. It’s not as if Sal is good at this: He’s never cuddled anyone to have experience with it. It can’t be Sal’s expert skills.

Even considering how badly he wants to be touched, Sal can’t imagine being able to do a job like this—he _couldn’t_ do this with just anyone. It can’t be easy. It takes more energy to be gentle than to be rough, after all. It’s difficult to be this attentive.

There are probably all sorts of weirdos that would love to get close to Larry like this, in the safety of his own apartment, and do God knows what. Weeding out the freaks must be difficult as fuck. Hell, if he were Larry, he wouldn’t have accepted a client like himself.

This feels wonderful, though, and Larry is obviously enjoying it enough for his energy to respond. It leaves Sal reeling.

Still nuzzling at Sal’s shoulder, Larry lets out a breathless laugh. “I was hard up for money and happened to hear about it on the news a few years back. When I started doing it, I figured there would be lots of creeps and criminals, y’know? But instead, it’s mostly lonely people. I can actually relate to most everyone I’ve worked with. Made some friends, even.”

He gently brushes his fingers against the side of Sal’s throat. It’s goddamn tender. When Sal shivers and unthinkingly tugs at Larry’s hair, Larry only laughs more, good-natured.

Larry nudges his knee against Sal’s own. Sal answers with a questioning noise.

“Hook your leg over mine?” Larry nudges again.

Sal awkwardly complies by slipping his ankle over Larry’s. It takes the strain off his lower back, so he lets Larry work his knee between his own.

“You’re really an expert, huh?” Sal mumbles.

Larry makes another soft noise and rubs his hand in a circle over Sal’s lower back, careful not to ruck up his shirt though his pinky inevitably slips across his skin at some point. Sal can’t help the way his breath shudders from him in response. Larry seems to like it, though, holding him closer still.

“I’ve been doing this a while now. Got a trick or two.”

“Yeah?” Sal titters and scratches behind Larry’s ear.

“Yeah. I’m worth every penny.”

Sal’s smile is so broad it aches.

“I don’t usually cuddle like this,” Larry says, as if to himself.

Sal huffs out a quiet laugh. “Because you’re always the tallest, right?”

Larry pinches his side gently. “Yeah, yeah—I’m a giant. I actually meant, like…” His fingers smooth down Sal’s side. “Usually it’s more awkward. It doesn’t happen this way. It’s not… It’s not this natural, you know what I mean?”

Hearing that this isn’t just in Sal’s head—that it’s not just him feeling so unusually comfortable—has his heart picking up speed again.

Larry continues, “Most people think the whole cuddling thing is one line crossed after another.”

Sal hums in response.

“But there are things I try to avoid. Like, uh…” He laughs, self-deprecating and yet somehow sweet. He taps his fingers against Sal’s neck. “Necks are generally a no-go. Too sensitive.”

_Oh_.

“I’m sorry,” Sal croaks. “If I—crossed a line earlier.”

Larry withdraws, and Sal can’t help but physically wince. Larry’s worried face is immediately hovering over his own and a gentle hand strokes over Sal’s chest.

“Hey, it’s okay. That’s not what I meant.” He smiles, bright and honest. “Like I said: If you do something I’m not comfortable with, I’ll tell you. Promise.”

His eyes shift from Sal’s and he gently curls a lock of Sal’s hair around his fingers. Sal shudders, closing his eyes. His heart skips around some more when Larry sucks in a breath.

“It’s just that… Well, even when we started talking online, it felt like I’d known you a long time.”

Sal peeks up at him, throat once again going dry. It feels unspeakably good to hear that from Larry. So much so it’s like a punch to the gut.

Sal is in too deep.

“I don’t hate my job—I actually like it,” Larry continues. “But I don’t think I’ve looked forward to an appointment like this since…” He laughs, eyes meeting Sal’s once more. Larry holds his gaze like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “I’ve _never_ looked forward to an appointment like I looked forward to meeting you, dude. It’s really unprofessional, I know, but—”

Sal hooks a hand around the back of Larry’s neck and tugs him down. Laughing and shining like a star, Larry returns to Sal’s side. He wriggles one arm under Sal’s waist, which can’t be comfortable, and the other is slung around Sal’s back. Larry seems all too happy to return to using Sal’s shoulder as a pillow.

“I don’t want to be rude,” Sal mutters, “but this doesn’t seem like the type of work that requires much professionalism.”

It’s a lie. If anything, from what he’s seen, to keep things safe it requires a hell of a lot.

Laughter bursts from Larry’s chest. He rolls onto his back and Sal is sure to curl his arm that’s been serving off and on as Larry’s neck pillow, keeping him from falling off the couch. He’s full of starlight now—so bright Sal can almost feel its warmth.

It’s hard for Sal to believe he’s not glowing himself, he’s so flushed and giddy.

Larry looks at him, eyes gleaming. “You’re a little shit.”

“Better than a big shit.”

His smile grows impossibly wider only to soften. “It doesn’t make _you_ uncomfortable, right?” His eyes are searching. “I get that this is, uh…”

“I feel the same,” Sal confesses in a burst, hopelessly eager to tell him.

Larry just smiles.

They quickly return to cuddling, with Sal rubbing Larry’s back and Larry nosing at his throat. Larry’s back is as muscled as expected and he feels so warm beneath Sal’s hand he might as well be a furnace. Larry mumbles something and reaches over their heads to grab a blanket; together, they get tucked in, laughing all the while.

Sal really could get used to this, which is dangerous as fuck—he knows it is.

“Is the meal alright?” Larry’s voice ticks up with amusement and he’s back to gently pinching at Sal’s waist.

_Yes_.

“It’s—” Sal’s voice cracks and he silently curses himself.

Larry rubs his fingertips over the place he pinched in apology.

“This is the most I’ve fed in years,” Sal confesses quietly.

Larry goes carefully still, hand a warm weight at Sal’s hip.

“And I… I usually hate it. Especially since… Well, since I was a kid.” Sal can’t stop himself from holding Larry a little tighter. He doesn’t want to broadcast how much it fucks with him, but he also wants comfort. “The energy—it looks like a light, right?”

Larry pulls his face back if only a little. “Uh-huh?”

“Yeah. Like how yours is… like moonlight. Yours is the first I’ve ever seen like this—I’m serious.”

Chuckling softly, Larry rubs his thumb over Sal’s hipbone through his jeans. “Cool.”

“Yeah, it is cool.”

Larry rubs with just a little more pressure.

“I don’t know if it’s because I’m only half or what, but the lights have always been… annoying. They’re _so_ bright. It’s like having flashlights constantly shined in your eyes.”

“Oof.”

“It sucks.”

Larry gives his hip a squeeze. “Sounds like it. So, mine… does that too?”

Sal shakes his head. “Yours is the only one that hasn’t. It’s not hard to look at—nah, it’s just pre—uh, well, cool.”

Larry’s head rolls back and he laughs and laughs—dorkish and hitching. “It’s okay, man. I’m not going to be upset over being called _pretty_.” He leans back further, meeting Sal’s eyes. “You can’t have hair like this and throw a fit over shit like that.”

Grin spreading like fire, Sal says, “Okay, yeah, it’s pretty.”

Larry preens. “Thanks.”

“Just telling the truth.”

He releases Sal’s hip to scratch at his jaw, expression going thoughtful. “Is it seriously the only one that hasn’t been too much?”

Sal nods. “I’m not even exaggerating. It’s like rave lights or some shit.”

Larry winces.

“Yeah, exactly.”

“Well, I’m here to serve as something pretty to look at whenever you need it,” Larry says, batting his lashes.

Sal’s giggles spill out of him. Larry laughs with him, the sound rumbling and warm.

Even with Ash and his other friends, communication is never this easy—this natural. More accurately, lack of communication isn’t this easy. Silences linger awkwardly often. He can’t say everything he wants to, instead needing to monitor himself. He doesn’t want to make them worry—is never sure when something is going to be too much.

Larry being a stranger certainly factors in, but there’s something more. Sal even sent him a selfie, though it was with his mask on, which he’s usually wary about. It was easy to tell Larry about his nature as an incubus, even. Maybe it was the anonymity the internet offered. Maybe it’s because Larry is _working_ instead of sincerely worried about him, the way his friends are.

Sal’s stomach twists uncomfortably.

“I hope we can be friends,” Larry says quietly. “You’re an interesting guy.”

Sal closes his eye. “Nah, just funny looking.”

Larry knocks his head gently against Sal’s jaw. “I’m serious.”

“So am I,” Sal persists, tugging teasingly at Larry’s hair.

Larry chuckles, wedging his leg more firmly between Sal’s. Sal tries not to swallow too audibly.

“I know you only paid for two hours,” Larry begins, but Sal cuts him off by jerking to grab his phone.

“ _Shit_ ,” Sal mutters, seeing he’s gone almost twenty minutes over. “Dude, I’m—”

Larry covers his hand, pushing him to put his phone back into his pocket. “Are you full? Like, have you eaten enough?”

“Uh, I—Yeah, probably?” Sal flounders. “I mean, since I haven’t been feeding for a while and shit, like… I’ll probably make another appointment for next week. If—I mean—”

“Stay a while longer,” Larry offers, soft once more. He pushes himself up on one arm. “My roommate is spending the night with his boyfriend, so you can stay as long as you want, really. We can make a pizza and share a bowl.”

Sal feels lightheaded. Larry looks really fucking handsome with his hair tucked behind one ear and the rest free to frame his face.

“Okay,” he says before common sense can kick in, because Larry is hot and warm and his energy is _fucking amazing_ and, okay, Sal is just going to go home to an empty apartment and feel lonelier than ever after having _this_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Let me know what you think


	3. Sao

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He carefully hooks his pinky with Sal’s. Even his pinky is so much larger than Sal’s; as strange as it is, to have their hands next to each other drives home the difference in a way being neatly folded against Larry’s side hasn’t managed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! So sorry for the delay! Thank you all for your kind words and patience. I appreciate all of your messages :)
> 
> There are more mentions of Sal's unhealthy eating habits in this chapter. Also weed.
> 
> I thought I might start adding some explanations: Sao is one of Neptune's moons; it's named after a nereid associated with saving people from shipwrecks.

They don’t end up making a pizza.

Larry is sweet and attentive through and through. He asks Sal what sort of pizza he feels like, if he has any food allergies, and on and on. Sal tries to stay out of picking toppings, but Larry eventually gets him to confess he’s a cheese loving mess. In the end, they get good-ass pizza, exactly what Sal wants because Larry is made of sugar apparently.

He sits close to Sal’s side, legs curled underneath him, calf pressed against Sal’s thigh. He’s warm. It makes Sal so drowsy it’s pathetic. He keeps telling himself he’s so tired because his sleeping patterns are shit, that’s it, but he knows it’s really that Larry’s presence is comforting.

When he’s sent in the order, Larry sets his phone on the coffee table; its case is black with a graphic pattern overlapping a smattering of stars. Very fitting considering his internal light.

“Should be here in twenty, maybe thirty minutes. Sound good?” he asks, his smile crooked. His gap is even cute.

He’s so unreasonably handsome Sal feels a little lost. It would be one thing if Larry was “perfect”—the type that looks like they’re straight out of a magazine, so pretty they’re sort of repulsive. But, of course, he’s not that. Larry has beautiful, soft hair but it’s still messy and a little oily. His eyes are shining but rimmed with dark circles and smeared eyeliner. He has messy, uneven scruff along his jaw and a few acne marks. His teeth are crooked, too. Some of his tattoos are fading, probably stick and pokes. No, Larry isn’t “perfect” but rather perfect for Sal, and that’s a hard thought to stomach.

Sal wouldn’t say he has a type or many preferences, nor does he waste time contemplating what his perfect partner would _look_ like. But someone who is as thoughtful and gentle as Larry with the lazy grin and muscled arms to boot might just fit the bill perfectly.

He shouldn’t be thinking like this and he knows it. Even if they do become friends, this is a business transaction and he can’t let himself forget it. Larry might even be acting, though Sal highly doubts it, especially now that their “transaction” is over so Larry is free to really be himself.

It occurs to him that Larry could see right through him, recognizing that Sal is attracted and see this as an opportunity to get more money. Just thinking about it makes him nauseous, and yet a part of him maintains faith, returning to his previous thoughts: Kindness takes energy and sincerity that can’t be easily faked and can’t be faked as well as Larry appears to be faking it. Or something. Sal’s sort of confusing himself at this point. And, unfortunately, Sal has had experience separating fake kindness from real. This seems pretty fucking genuine.

“Yeah,” he croaks, belated and blushing for it. “Thank you so much.”

Larry throws an arm around his shoulders. “No problem, dude.”

Sal lets himself melt against his side. He wants to pull a blanket around them both but butterflies get all tied up in his stomach at the thought. It’s fucking ridiculous considering how they’ve been wrapped up in each other to suddenly get shy, but Sal is pretty fucking ridiculous, all things considered. At war with his nerves is the continued desire to give Larry some proper pleasure, and that quickly wins out.

Sal awkwardly tugs the blanket further into his own lap and then across Larry’s. It earns him a squeeze and a contented sigh. The light shimmers.

“Thanks,” Larry mumbles, sounding sleepy. He lets his head rest against Sal’s.

“Some people are really hard to cuddle,” he begins, out of the blue. “They’re bony or smell bad or they only care about their own comfort… But you’re really nice. A good cuddler,” he adds, his voice tinted with humor.

It’s stupid, so stupid, but Sal feels heat shifting through his chest like water spilling between cracks.

“You’re just saying that,” he mutters, aiming for joking but instead a hint of sadness sneaks into his voice.

“Nah,” Larry insists. His laugh is mellow and breathless. “I don’t want you to—I don’t know, feel pressured to do this again—”

“I want to,” Sal cuts in, reaching out to touch Larry’s shoulder without thinking. Hyperaware of that point of contact, his hand tingles and he’s blushing like a dipshit again. “I—Shit, I just mean this was nice, and-and I’ve never felt so comfortable around a person so easily, y’know? And I don’t have anyone I can feed from, at least as much as I need. You’re so nice, too, and—” Sal swallows, throat dry as hell. He covers his face.

“I’d like it. If you came again. Next time, I’ll know to have some pizza around.”

“No,” Sal bursts out. “I mean—I mean that’s very—” Sal rubs at the back of his neck. “I’m supposed to be paying you and instead you’re…”

_Taking care of me_. _You’re taking care of me_.

Larry’s demeanor shifts in a way Sal can’t describe. It’s like he’s awakening but something more. “I crossed the line?” Larry asks in a low voice.

Sal winces. “This is coming out all wrong. _I’m_ worried about crossing the line. You’re—” _perfect_. “You haven’t done anything, please don’t-don’t worry about that.”

Larry makes a quiet, breathy sound and leans closer. He keeps his arm around Sal but lets it slide down his back, settling at his waist. Meeting Sal’s gaze, he tucks a lock of Sal’s hair behind his ear, his fingers brushing lightly over the soft skin there.

He’s so sympathetic. So attentive. Sal’s chest grows tight and burns.

Lips quirked, he says, “Honestly, I’m not very good at keeping my feelings to myself. If you do something that’s not okay, I’ll tell you straight up. Really.”

Sal balls his hands up. Swallows.                                                  

“I meant it,” Larry continues. The humor in his eyes has faded into something softer. “About wanting to be your friend. We can split the cost of the pizza if you wanna. If that’s what you’re worried about. Is that it? Or is it something else?”

Even in this, he’s gentle.

Before he thinks about it, Sal is tipping himself closer, arms awkwardly curling around Larry’s waist and shoulders in a hug. His face fits just right against Larry’s neck. And Larry responds instantly, returning the hug with an airy laugh.

Like this, it feels as if Larry’s light is encompassing him. Sal holds him tighter, hoping he can get some of Larry’s energy to stick to him for later.

They stay like that for a while, Larry playing with the tips of his hair until Sal shivers and Sal’s grip gradually relaxing only for him to squeeze again. It shouldn’t be this effortless, that’s what Sal keeps telling himself, but it is. It’s easy and it feels so good.

Eventually, Sal ends up tucked against Larry’s side once more. Larry fucks around with the TV. He mumbles about _The Evil Dead_ , _Suburban Gothic_ , and all sorts of quirky movies, some Sal has heard of or even seen but plenty that he’s never had the chance to.

“We can watch whatever you want, seriously,” Larry insists when Sal sleepily agrees to watch one of the horror-comedies Larry has suggested. He’s too damn kind-hearted.

While the movie plays, Larry murmurs to Sal about random facts about the movie itself, the actors, and so on. His voice is soothing. Sal slips in and out of sleep with more ease now that he’s fed, cozy, and lulled by that voice. Larry even pets his back.

The doorbell makes Sal jump. Larry hushes him gently as he gets up to answer it—doesn’t even laugh.

“Here,” Larry murmurs, shoving a pillow where he had been sitting. “Lay down. Take a nap.”

“I’ll pay half,” Sal mumbles even as he curls up with the blanket and pillow.

“That’s alright, cutie. You can send it through Paypal, if you gotta,” Larry says gently and strokes his shoulder one last time before going to the door.

Sal stiffens up, eyes shut tight. Did he imagine that? He imagined that.

Cracking his eye open, Sal watches Larry open the door and grin at the delivery guy. Larry digs in his back pocket before pulling out a silly wallet covered in skulls. He gives a good tip. As soon as the delivery guy is gone, Larry sets the box right in front of Sal on the coffee table.

“Have as much as you want, seriously.”

Larry says it with such adamance Sal merely nods along dumbly.

Grin back in place, Larry moves into the cramped kitchen space. “Want, uh, a fork or some shit?”

“Hell no.”

“A man after my own heart,” Larry lilts.

He’s clearly teasing, and yet Sal’s throat closes and his heart hammers away. It’s stupid. It’s ridiculous.

“You want to eat now?”

“Yeah, please.” Sal pushes himself up.

“Hope this is okay,” Larry tells him, returning to the couch to hand Sal a paper plate.

Larry sets his own plate on the table and moves away once more. He comes back with a little orange medical bottle full of weed. When he sees Sal looking, he smiles and shakes it. “You don’t mind?”

Sal shakes his head.

Setting the bottle on the table, Larry slips away once more.

Sal opens the pizza box and gets a piece out for himself then sets one on Larry’s plate. He tucks himself against the arm of the couch, all bundled up. While he can hear Larry padding around in the other room, he slips his mask up just enough to take a big bite, then another.

In the kitchen, Sal can hear the fridge open and close. Mask back on.

Larry returns and sets a couple of soda cans on the coffee table, nudging one over to Sal. He pulls a grinder from his pocket and places it alongside them.

When Larry pulls a bud out and sets it in the grinder, Sal pipes up, saying, “I, uh, don’t plan on smoking a lot but I’d like a hit if that’s okay.”

Larry smiles. “Of course, dude.” He adds another nug, nothing big. “You smoke anything at all?”

“Cigarettes, sometimes. Mostly e-cigs. I’m okay with a bowl if that’s what you’re getting at.”

“I have a bong if you’d rather use that,” he offers with a shrug.

Sal considers it. Most importantly he considers the possibility of coughing up a lung on Larry’s coffee table. The thought alone makes him want to lock himself in his room and never leave again. He feels like a damn teenager, freaking out over what-ifs like there’s no tomorrow.

“Yeah, okay. Bong.”

“Ice-cubes?”

“If you don’t mind.”

Getting back up, Larry laughs. “Seriously, whatever you want.”

His bong isn’t as exciting as the little bowl, being simple glass. It’s cleaner than any bong Sal has seen in person; to be fair, the bar is low considering most of the bongs he’s encountered were owned by college students. Larry’s already stuffed a few ice-cubes inside and as silly as it is Sal is charmed.

“I won’t pressure you,” Larry says as he sits down once more. “Like, if you decide you aren’t comfortable with me smoking, even—”

A laugh escapes with Sal’s breath. “It’s fine. I’m fine with you smoking.”

“Okay, but for real, bud, if you change your mind just…” He waves his hand around vaguely. “Y’know, tell me.”

“Do you act like a dick when you get high?”

Larry snorts. “Nah. Just get sleepy. Sleepier,” he amends. “Tongue gets a little looser, maybe.”

Sal can’t help but smile. “I’m alright with that.”

Casting him a mockingly suspicious look, Larry mutters, “Do you act like a dick when you’re high?”

“Guess you’ll find out.”

Even Larry’s laugh is ugly-cute. Sal’s screwed.

Larry grinds up the weed. He has beautiful hands: long, spindly fingers and visible calluses from work or playing an instrument or both. The tattoos make his fingers and arms look much longer.

While Sal is familiar with most common occult symbols, there are a few foreign to him decorating Larry’s body. There is a particularly complex tattoo on Larry’s bicep. It appears deceptively simple due to its use of blocked, black ink interspersed by blank spaces. The intricate overlays of various shapes and lines that decorate the area around it make it appear all the more unassuming. It’s a circle with a woman at the center, kneeling, head tilted back. The style makes Sal think of ancient Aztec and Mayan art.

There is text between the various images and symbols, mostly in English though the text is so small and looping Sal can’t fully read many sections. He catches snatches along the inside of Larry’s arm, lines that read like lyrics or poetry. On the inside of his wrists, there is Hebrew; though Sal recognizes the alphabet, he doesn’t know what the words mean.

As tempting as it is, Sal feels like it would be too much to ask about their meaning. Something about them seems highly personal—more so than some. Maybe that’s stereotyping, or something; any tattoo can mean any _thing_ , really, but seeing that woman with her body bent and disconnected limbs orbiting her form makes something in Sal’s chest twinge.

Catching Sal looking and misinterpreting, Larry flips his bowl over on the table so Sal can see it’s in the shape of a turtle. When Sal giggles, Larry grins so goddamn wide it seems like it must hurt. He’s precious and sincere in his happiness. It makes Sal warm.

All that sweetness is hard to believe, in a way. How do people so kind exist without getting chewed up and spit out?

Sal watches as Larry packs the bong’s bowl, careful not to spill anything. His profile is harsh, defined by his sharp nose and heavy brow, but it’s beautiful. His lips, too, are—

Larry glances at him. Sal quickly looks away.

Sal’s unsure what he sees but Larry makes a funny noise, something that comes from the chest. “Do you—Uh, shit, do you want me to, like, look away so you can eat? I can, uh, look away so you can smoke, too. I don’t know how the—” he motions to his own face.

“Oh.” Sal’s throat feels tight, though he can’t pinpoint why. “I… Yeah, just… don’t look, okay?”

Larry pushes the bong his way and pulls a lighter out of his pocket to pass along. “You know how to do it, right?”

“Right.”

“Cool.” With that, he twists his whole body around and clamps a hand over his eyes.

Sal’s chest fucking throbs. It’s silly and sweet, and Sal might just die.

He fumbles with the bong, placing his plate on the table in favor of bringing the bong into his lap. His hands are a touch shaky and he finds himself unable to get the lighter to work. The longer it goes on (once, twice, three times) the tighter his chest grows, now in a bad way.

“I can do it,” Larry offers, sounding pretty damn uncertain. “If you need me to.”

The lighter works this time, thank fuck.

“Got it,” Sal squeaks out.

He tips up his mask and ducks his head to fit his lips to the mouthpiece. He doesn’t burn much, still wary of coughing and carrying on, especially with his chest feeling the way it does. The smoke he draws in is still enough to make his throat prickle. He doesn’t know enough about weed to truly say, but sometimes he suspects different strains cause more irritation for him. He supposes it’s not unlike the strains that make his mind move a mile a minute and honey-slow all at once until his anxiety is rearing its ugly head. The good ones do the opposite: don’t bother his throat, make his mind go quiet and his smile come easier.

He doesn’t cough when he draws away and silently thanks the powers that be for it. He sets the bong back on the table, hiding his face once more.

“Thanks,” he says, already a little croaky. He tries recalling the last time he smoked, but sincerely can’t. “My mask is back on.”

“Cool.” Larry turns around to take the bong and lighter.

When he ducks his head to press his mouth to the pipe, his hair falls across his shoulders, shrouding him. Sal watches him thumb the lighter until it flickers to life, draw the flame over the weed, his other hand hooked around the bong. Unlike Sal, he gets the herb glowing.

Sal is so caught up in admiring Larry’s hair that he jerks a little when Larry’s energy flares, steadily growing brighter. Sure, Sal has been around plenty of people smoking weed, enough to know it’s not unusual for the pleasure from smoking to show. The thing is, he’s never seen someone so clearly _content_. A laugh bursts out of him.

Larry draws back, cocking his head. “You’re a giggly one, huh?”

“No, no—It’s just—” Sal huffs out a laugh. “I’ve never seen someone get that much from one puff.”

His brows furrow and his head cocks further until Larry is looking very much like a puppy. Larry’s eyes are blown, and Sal’s stomach gives a little jerk. It’s probably just the weed or the low light, but his mind easily pieces together images of Larry’s blown eyes dragging over the lines of Sal’s body.

Lightheadedness hits him hard, and he really wishes he could blame that shit on the weed but he knows better.

Sal motions weakly, not even sure what he’s trying to convey exactly. “Lit up like Christmas.”

Realization has Larry’s eyes sparking. He doubles over laughing, hand covering his eyes as if he can hide. “Oh, wow.”

The light continues growing until it’s like the blush of the Milky Way hangs between them. It’s all hazy and near-sparkling, though Sal has to wonder how much of that is his imagination. Larry’s smile is bright—so fucking bright and gorgeous. It makes Sal think of how the crescent moon looks when shrouded by clouds. He’s so goddamn beautiful.

Larry’s smile softens but lingers. Sal swallows thickly, realizing he’s been caught staring. He quickly looks away, finding the pizza box absolutely fascinating.

“I don’t wanna be nosy,” Larry says, only to stop himself.

Sal glances back to find him also studying the pizza box. The haze of his light has withdrawn, if only a little. Sal’s stomach tumbles over itself when Larry wets his lips.

“Is it the mask that makes feeding hard? Like—I mean, are people dicks about it?” he asks, keeping his voice low.

“Yeah. Yeah, sort of.”

Larry doesn’t look at him, as if sensing that would be too much, instead nodding his head to show he’s still listening.

“It’s more what’s—what’s underneath.” Sal swallows, flushed over the sudden crack. “Not… attractive, y’know?”

Sighing heavily, Larry’s shoulders practically cave. His brows are knit, teeth biting the inside of his cheek. “The world is really shit, huh?”

“Yeah…”

Larry doesn’t make any sudden movements—really the opposite, broadcasting each one before he makes it. As Larry shifts toward him, arm slipping behind Sal’s back, Sal turns his body to allow himself to be gathered against Larry’s side. He’s cozy and this way it’s so much easier to take in his energy.

Being held like this, like he’s breakable—it’s as if Larry is trying to comfort him. Sal isn’t able to catch the pitiful, weak noise that gets caught up in his throat before it’s out there for Larry to hear. Once again, Larry is too kind to acknowledge it and that lack of judgment has Sal relaxing.

Larry hums, hand settling on Sal’s waist, squeezing gently. “Don’t worry about me seeing, okay? Can’t peek from up here, so you can eat. Pinky promise.”

He carefully hooks his pinky with Sal’s. Even his pinky is so much larger than Sal’s; as strange as it is, to have their hands next to each other drives home the difference in a way being neatly folded against Larry’s side hasn’t managed.

Sal keeps their fingers linked longer than he really should, squeezing lightly. Larry hums and squeezes back. Finally, Sal releases him.

Sal closes his eyes against the light, lips parted around a sigh. He’s unsure if it’s the weed, the moonlight, or just _Larry_ that’s making him feel so fuzzy inside. Sal’s never felt this way about a person this fast. It’s like his ribcage is cracking open and full of starlight all at once.

“Is that okay?” Larry presses, thumbing at Sal’s side once more.

Letting out his breath, Sal wriggles closer instead of answering. They settle in like this, with Sal very, very carefully lifting his mask to take small bites of his pizza. Larry’s thumb strokes over his side all the while.

They watch the movie, pass the bong back and forth, and Larry gently prods Sal to eat more pizza while he keeps his eyes firmly on the television.

“You can eat as much as you want,” Larry mumbles, sleepy once more. “Pizza and, uh, energy.”

Sal does. He has more food than he’s eaten in one go in months, honestly. He only stops when he begins worrying about getting sick, and once again, it’s possible mortification that keeps him from stuffing himself like the dumbass he is.

Larry doesn’t comment on it, but Sal catches how his expression has grown pinched when he checks each time. It makes Sal’s cheeks burn and shame settles heavy over his shoulders. Larry’s just being kind. Obviously he didn’t figure that Sal (all 110 pounds of him) would scarf down half the pizza. Sal squirms next to him, feeling like a goddamn idiot for forgetting himself.

Swallowing thickly and tilting his head away as if he can hide more than he already has, he murmurs, “Sorry.”

Larry looks down at him with that confused puppy look once more. “Huh?”

“For eating so much. I really will pay for half. Hell, I should pay for the whole thing.”

Larry’s hand returns to Sal’s hip. He shakes his head, expression returning to that pinched discomfort. “Dude, no. You can have more if you want.”

“I’m not eating your share,” Sal grumbles. His face really is flaming now; he hopes it’s not showing on his throat. “Feel like a pig already.”

“Sal… Dude…” Larry’s expression of total loss really hits Sal hard, but he has no clue how to respond to it.

Sighing, Larry drags a hand through his hair. His Adam’s apple bobs. “I feel like a dick saying this,” Larry begins, stumbling over the words.

Here it is. Sal closes his eyes.

“But… uh, do you not have enough food? Like, human food?”

Sal’s eyes snap open.

“Fuck, I don’t know what you wanna call it. It’s just, with the whole almost-fainting earlier and how hungry you seem now… I’m not trying to be a dick,” he adds, clearly torn. “Just… I know it’s not my business, man, but, like, if you need anything… Shit, is it just the munchies?” he mumbles, mostly to himself, like he’s trying to pick apart if his concern is reasonable or not.

It makes Sal’s heart clench because it’s a familiar response, the type that comes from someone that’s been sneered at over money and struggled themselves. It’s not pity, and it’s not cruel, just concerned.

“I’m not, like, upset about you eating. That’s what I got it for,” Larry persists. “No apologies, okay?”

“You’re really fucking sweet,” Sal bursts out then immediately bites his damn tongue.

Larry blinks at him. Puppy.

“I’m okay,” Sal rushes to say. “I just haven’t been taking care of myself, I guess.”

It’s true, no guessing about it. He’ll forget to eat or not even bother. He’s had trouble in the past, but right now he’s got enough work to not only afford to feed himself but to hire Larry. It’s just his bad habits.

Larry mumbles something that sounds an awful lot like, “Sweetheart.” Sal tells himself it’s his imagination.

Larry holds him closer, rubbing his hand down Sal’s spine. “You’ll come back next week, yeah?” he asks. Something about it sounds more like a request.

“Yeah, if you don’t mind. I’m going to pay you,” Sal tacks on because it feels strangely like Larry isn’t expecting him to. Probably his imagination again.

“Sure, sure. Just wanna make sure you get enough.”

Sal spends the bus ride home that night feeling lost like he just stepped out of a dream. He’s full. He feels better than he has in months. All the aches and pains that have been plaguing him have melted away. With everything changed, he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

Flipping his phone over and over in his hands, Sal considers texting Ash and Todd. Usually, he would eagerly let them know about any excitement in his life. The excitement in his life usually consists of telling off people who hassle him in the grocery store or drama between his coworkers, though. He has no clue where he would even begin with this.

He didn’t tell anyone about Larry, which wasn’t a good idea in hindsight, but Larry isn’t a homicidal maniac so it’s all good. In part, it was embarrassment which kept him from saying anything originally but also he knows very well his friends would feel guilty. They both already do so much for him, with Ashley regularly feeding him and Todd doing so upon occasion. He knows his bad habits make them worry, and knowing he’s going to a stranger to feed would do more than just concern them.

He decides not to say anything, at least not yet.

About halfway through the ride, he gets a text from Larry: _tell me when you get home. just wanna make sure youre safe_

He does, earning a goofy smiley face in return.

That night, he’s able to go straight to sleep. No nightmares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to reiterate that later chapters will contain explicit sexual content, but I'll give warnings for anyone who is just here for the fluff.
> 
> Also, you can find me on tumblr [@jevald](https://jevald.tumblr.com/).
> 
> I'm working on a [Discord server](https://discord.gg/7zjuzGc) for Sally Face content creators and consumers (putting together resources for writers, visual artists, etc. for example) for anyone interested. [Also there's one for yelling about Larry's penis.](https://discord.gg/pYuQy6F)
> 
> Also, [check out my bud's salarry fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17801849?view_adult=true) :)

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone, this is my first time writing for these characters. Concrit is welcome. Please let me know what you think.


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